Feels so Right
by LittleLongHairedOutlaw
Summary: Christine and Erik, together in bed at the end of the day.


**A/N: Written for a Tumblr anon who requested fluffy smut.**

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His lips are soft against the freckle above her collarbone.

"You're very affectionate tonight," she whispers, stroking her thumb over the back of his hand. He smiles against her, lips moving up her neck to the spot just below her ear, stirring a flutter beneath her navel.

"She was teasing me," he murmurs. "Such a perfect little freckle, audaciously winking at your Erik. How could he help himself?" He presses a soft kiss to her cheek. "You are very beautiful tonight, my love." He mouths a trail back down to her collarbone and she whimpers as he disentangles their fingers, pushing her nightdress up and up to reveal her breasts. "I love you," he breathes against her neck, into the hollow between her breasts, in a rambling line down her stomach. "I love you."

"I love you, too," she whispers, a hot flush burning up her neck as he presses a kiss to her inner thigh. "Oh, Erik-"

He re-positions himself over her, eyes aglow, and kisses her lips. "Hush, my love. May I?" She nods and he cups her left breast softly in the palm of his hand, massaging it, kneading it, flicking his thumb over her nipple until she whimpers into his mouth and then he breaks the kiss, moves down and nuzzles the soft, smooth porcelain skin of that perfect breast, his free hand settling on her thigh, fingers caressing. She is silk beneath his touch and there is not a thing that he would not do for her pleasure.

Leaving her breasts, he kisses down and down again, dipping his tongue into the hollow of her navel and his lips are numb with the gentleness of the kisses and she wrenches a fist of his nightshirt tight, nails scraping his back.

His own longing is buzzing awake, simmering hot and demanding attention but he must take it slowly, must be gentle. He cannot risk hurting her by rushing in pursuit of his own release.

He whispers along to the crease of her hip, every soothing sweet word he can think of in French and Persian and Russian and Italian and more besides, crooning to her, gracing her so that each tripping syllable is a rhyme of its own. She shifts beneath him, moaning, fingernails raking the back of his neck, begging. His fingers trail to her hips, curl around them, and he is achingly hard himself as he whisperingly kisses along the line of her hip curving to her inner thigh. Her musk is heavier down here, warmer, calling him and he follows it as it beckons him to the thatch of hair hiding her greatest secret, the little nub that makes her call his name. He probes with his tongue to find it and she is warm and slick, ready for him, and there it is, hot and hard and he licks it and she whimpers and he wraps his lips around it and she moans, rocking into him, and he licks it and kisses it and his heart pounds and he can't hear her whispers into the night but he can feel them, can feel her stomach tightening just like his own, and she shudders, gasping, fingers clenched in his nightshirt and hips rocking her into his mouth faster and faster as she rides out her pleasure.

He is not quite certain that he can last much longer, but he moves and plants a line of soft kisses along her forehead. She wraps her arms tight around him, holds him so close he can feel the pounding of her heart as she catches her breath.

"I love you," she breathes against his jaw. "I love you," and she nuzzles into his neck.

Still holding her hips, he eases himself into her and she welcomes him with a soft murmur against his collarbone. He thrusts once, a long undulating movement down his spine, twice, and she moves with him even as the knot beneath his navel tightens, and on the third thrust he feels it, a rush that wipes his vision and spills him into her. It throbs through him, once, twice, forcing him in deeper, strangling his breath and he collapses on top of her, shivering as the last waves wash through his veins.

Gently, ever so gently she rolls him over and fixes their clothing, kissing the taste of her off his lips as she draws the sheets tight around them. Already sleep is tugging at him, his eyes slipping closed and every limb heavy. He folds her into his arms and she nestles close, her lips resting against the pulse in his throat, her fingers stroking through his hair. And in a moment he is asleep, breaths evening out, and a moment later she follows him, content and peaceful in his embrace.


End file.
